#Smite Hel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

huramuna · 9 months ago

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downpour - oneshot.

modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.

this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.

word count: 4.5k

content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job

murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter

warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face

“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other.

“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard.

“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days.

The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.

You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;

Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.

- A.T

The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design.

“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased.

“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.

“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly.

Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.

That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits.

It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly.

Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.

The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.

You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?”

“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”

“No! I want mac n’ cheese.”

The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?”

The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.

You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets.

“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here.

“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.”

“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.”

He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?”

“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–”

“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?”

You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet!

“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets.

“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions.

“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.

As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’

You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.

“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.”

“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–”

“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.”

“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”

“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…”

“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.

“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.

“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.

He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house.

As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red.

—

The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.

You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot.

“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you.

“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.”

“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,”

“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little—

“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.

Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing?

You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you.

—

It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you?

It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him?

A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working.

You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.”

“The… what?”

“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.”

“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.

“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.

“No– I know what you said– but why?”

“Why not?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?”

“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?”

“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”

“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you.

You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins.

“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.

“And this… is a… what? Comedy?”

“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?”

“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.”

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”

“And… instead of ghosts?”

“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.”

“... what.”

“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?”

“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.

“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.

“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours.

“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.”

“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”

“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves.

“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.

“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.”

You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”

“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”

“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?”

“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.”

“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.

“What?”

“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.

Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh.

His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –

“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone.

You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.

“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil.

Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat.

“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.

Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.

“–such a good girl for me–”

“–you can take a little more, there you go–”

“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”

You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.

You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into.

And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded.

He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off.

“You good?”

You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt.

“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.”

“... are you asking me on a date?”

“Umm… yeah. I think.”

“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.

–

“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was.

“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?”

“Okay… and?”

“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.”

“How about just in my room? Please?”

You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.

“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”

‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’

It's murder on the dancefloor!

But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!

It's murder on the dancefloor.

But you better not steal the moves.

DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 30 days ago

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Obsidian Salt II

Part 2 of my Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys fic

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, mental manipulation, brief mentions of sacrifices/blood

------------------------------

“Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”

His clawed hand still grips my throat, tight enough to make stars start dancing across my vision. All attempts at pulling him off, pushing him away, fail miserably.

“You’re shaking, Witchling,” he coos, his breath warm on my neck as he brushes his lips over the shell of my ear, laughing in dark amusement to my plight. “What’s the matter?”

I bash my fists against his solid, and very bare, chest uselessly. “Let go!”

Rhysand, Prince of Hel, hums, as if thinking, then suddenly drops me in a rush, my limp body falling onto the cracked stone floor without the support of his weight. Dried anise and rosemary crushes under my palms--another failed attempt at warding off evil. Our books are clearly outdated.

My coughing must attract attention, because the door leading down into our decrypt little basement swings open, the old wood hitting the door with a horrendous crack. I glance at the demon I’d accidentally summoned in a panic, if he gets out, I’ve doomed my entire coven!

But the violet eyed demon merely grins wickedly as he dissolves into shadow and smoke, taking my grandmother’s tome, and the spell that would rid me of him, with him into the dark recesses of the basement. I can still feel him there, his icy power chilling the room, but he has no solid shape.

“What are you doing down here?” My grandmother, the leader of our coven, sounds worn and tired and she has used that weathered lilt to worm her way into many enemy’s houses, just to smite them with a snap of her fingers. She may look old and feeble, but it is all a ruse to get people to let their guard down, and once that happens, she can pluck whatever she wants from their open hands.

I’d idolized her as a child. I wanted so badly to prove to her and my mother that I could be just as good a witch as them, but I have nothing to show for it but the scattering of obsidian salt and a Prince of Hel I just let into our home.

I scramble to my feet, mind spinning as I try to figure out how I will explain all this. Though, that becomes useless a moment later when the evidence of my transgressions disappears, as if they never existed. All the dried herbs, the salt in the summoning circle, even my chalk runes are gone. It is just me and a couple of candles in the basement by the time my grandmother makes it down the stairs.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, child,” she snarls, her gnarled cane stomping angrily against the final step.

She can’t see or smell what I have done. Does that free me or doom me? And how the Hel did it disappear like that? It certainly wasn’t me, which means Rhysand, for some reason, is hiding the evidence.

“I was…” my throat burns, I run a hand over it absently, hoping the darkness hides the claw shaped indents in my skin. There will surely be bruises too. “Practicing! For the Solstice!” The lie isn’t as smooth as I’d like, but it will be better than the truth.

My grandmother’s worn head swivels to look around the empty basement, her wrinkled mouth pinched in a permanent frown that looks extra deep today. “What have you decided to show us?” There is nothing but disappointment in her tone, even though there is nothing here for her to be disappointed in.

“It’s a surprise,” I say.

Her cane is made from the first tree ever planted in this town, scared with runes and blessings and imbued with enough magic to power the city’s mage lights for a year; she uses it to smack me in the shoulder, her strength still startling even though I know there’s more to her than the slight hunchback.

“Do not disappoint me as you always do,” she hisses.

Shame floods me. I am always the disappointment. Always the let down. My sisters are natural talents. My aunts born with such intense magic they have to go on annual retreats to expel it. My mother hunts men for sport. And I am the girl who was so desperate to be something, she went to a book of dark magic for help.

I hang my head. “Grandmother, I have a confession.” I should just get it over with. There is no point in delaying the inevitable. I don’t possess enough magic to send a demon back to its realm. I will need her help. Better to break the bargain I’d made than wait for it to blow up in my face.

She sighs like this conversation just might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. “What now?”

“I-” I try to tell her, really I do, but when I open my mouth, no words come out. It feels as if something’s lodged itself in my throat.

Shit, maybe Rhysand damaged my vocal chords!

“I-” I try again the words catch as before. It is not as if I am choking, there is nothing redistricting my airway, I’m not struggling to breathe, but no matter how hard I try to admit my sins, the words stick.

She smacks me with the cane again. “Stop messing around!”

“I’m not, I-” A dark, sensual laugh slithers its way into my head, as if he’d done it in my ear.

She throws up her hands and turns away. “I better not see any of this nonsense at the Solstice. Or you’ll be the sacrifice to the Goddess.”

“Come now, Darling, did you really think I’d let you tell her about our little bargain?” Even mentally his voice is a deep purr that makes a shiver run down my spine. He is thoroughly embedded in my head, I can feel the dark shadow of him sitting like a cat curled up in the back of my skull. Every time I try to mention him, his icy power flows through me.

My grandmother slams the basement door shut behind her, and only then does Rhysand materialize from the corner of the room, leisurely stretching out his great wings as if awakening from a nap. Whatever magic he used to hide the room falls away, leaving the salt and herbs visible once more.

“What did you do to me?” I snarl.

He chuckles as he tucks his wings back behind his lythe body. “We had a bargain, any interference with that bargain will leave you in a similar state of discomfort. If not worse.”

I rub a hand over my throat. “You’re a bastard!”

He saunters closer, footsteps silent on the worn stones. I find myself shrinking back against the wall as he approaches again.

“You summoned me, Darling, this is the bed you get to lie in.”

“You tricked me,” I snarl.

He’s close enough now that I can smell the jasmine and citrus scent of him, mingled with a faint hint of smoke. Close enough that I can read the runes etched into his bronze skin, the markings ancient and sharp. If he was anyone else, anything else, I would be tempted to reach out and touch, trace the swirling shapes over his defined chest and shoulders.

“Tricked you?” He frowns as he braces his hand on the wall above my head, effectively caging me in against the rough stone. “You summoned me, Witchling, and in case you missed that delightful little threat from the crone, I am your only salvation from a Solstice sacrifice.”

“What kind of demon could be my salvation?” I retort.

He uses the hand not bracing himself against the wall to take my chin between two of his claws, tilting my head up to look at him. I have never felt smaller than I do at this moment.

“You have no idea what I could give you, if you only asked,” he says, voice dropping to a husky whisper. His eyes drift to my lips, and his tongue slips out to wet his own as he watches the way my breath hitches in my throat when he speaks. “I could show you power you have only dreamed of; offer cities on their knees to you. There is nothing I can’t give you.”

I can see it, as clearly as if it was happening in front of my eyes: Power, glittering and dark pouring from my fingertips, consuming everything in its path; droves of fragile, powerless humans bowing at my feet, their arms laden with gifts and tribute. I didn’t think I wanted things like that. Power was the pursuit of my grandmother, never an option for me. But the feeling of it, even in a vision is enough to make my head spin. Could I really feel like that?

“You desire power, Witchling, that’s why you summoned me, isn’t it?” He whispers, claws drifting down my throat in a sensual caress.

I nod, too scared to speak, too ashamed to admit that he is right, to admit that I am gullible and weak willed enough to even entertain the possibilities spinning through my head.

“Aren’t you tired of being forgotten? Cast aside? Belittled?”

His hand drifts lower, following the stuttering pulse of my heartbeat down my chest. I should shy away from his touch, but my body shivers under his ministrations instead. I can’t look away from him, from the pretty images he spins round and round in my head like it’s his own personal movie screen.

“Aren’t you tired of being good and quiet and ignored?”

He’s so close now if I tilt my head up I’ll brush my lips against his. My own gaze flicks to those full, sensual lips. Perhaps power is not the only thing I want, and I cannot, for the life of me, remember why I don’t want him. It’s like everything has been emptied out of my head except for him.

“Yes,” I whisper. My voice doesn’t sound like mine, like I’m entranced somehow but I don’t know how to break the spell, how to tell if this is me or if it’s him.

“Just a taste is all it takes, Darling,” he closes the gap just enough to brush his lips over mine. It isn’t cold or unyielding like last time, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my suddenly flushed skin.

My body chases after him like it’s starved, hand reaching up to tangle in the long strands of his dark hair. He lets me pull him back, lets me slot my lips over his. When he kisses me back there is no longer ice in it, only an all consuming warmth that floods my system like water breaking through a damn.

He kisses like a desperate male; all tongue and teeth, fangs scraping against my lower lip as he takes and takes from me. And I let him. Damn me! I let him push me back against the wall, let his hands slide down my body until he can lift me up and wrap my legs around his trim waist. He tastes like smoke and jasmine and endless possibilities. When his lips are on mine I feel infinite. Under his grip I should feel helpless and frail as I always do, but like this, I think I might just be able to be anything.

A bit of shadow slips from his lips when he finally pulls away, the smoky haze drifting along our shared breath as he puts his lips to my throat. He’s everywhere, in my head and under my skin, everywhere but where I think I need him the most.

His fangs scrape against my throat as I tilt my head back against the wall, letting him have free reign to do with my body as he pleases. “Doesn’t this feel better?” He purrs, the vibrations of his voice against my flushed skin making a shiver race down my spine.

“Yes,” I gasp when he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, the coppery scent of blood in the air telling me he’s marked me as his before the pain registers.

Rhys laves over the wound with his tongue. “Never again will you feel small, or powerless,” he says lowly. “Your coven will bow to you. They will regret ever doubting you.”

I rock my hips into his, desperate for some sort of friction. “You-you could really do that?” Words are hard against the images still spinning around inside my head, competing with the feel of his warm body between my legs and his teeth still nipping at my shoulder.

“You need only to say two little words, and all of it is yours, Witchling,” he purrs, lips making their way back up my throat.

When he kisses me again, there’s the coppery tang of my own blood on his tongue. “Tell me your mine and it will be done.”

My head is starting to feel fuzzy, the room spinning as the images in my head all start to blur together. The stars in his eyes start to twirl around his irises, for a second the movement takes all the color out of his irises, until there is nothing but black emptiness. I blink away the strange vision.

“I-” Upon my hesitation, his lips are back on mine again, his hands exploring my body, slipping beneath my shirt to trace patterns in my skin. I think his claws might scratch marks into my sensitive flesh but my head is too empty to pay it any mind. What’s a little blood?

“Say it,” he presses, voice a husky whisper that makes heat flare in my core. I want to know what other things he might whisper in my ear with that tone. “Say your mine. Let me give you everything you deserve.”

I do deserve more than this. For too long I have been forgotten and ignored or belittled for being a waste of space. I’m tired of it! For once, I want to make people fear what I am capable of. I want people to regret casting me aside when they see me.

“I’m yours, Rhysand,” I say.

Something hot, like a brand inks its way across my spine. So intense and blistering that I scream. He swallows that sound with another kiss, tongue swiping behind my teeth as my body writhes against the blinding pain.

“It’s ok,” he coos, “just my sigil, so everyone knows who you belong to. It won’t hurt much longer.”

Another kiss is all it takes for me to forget entirely why there are tears streaming down my cheeks. My head feels so incredibly emtpy.

He runs his tongue over my cheek, licking away the tear streaks that feel so foreign on my flushed skin. “See, that’s better, isn’t it, Witchling?”

I nod even though I can’t remember what he’s referring to. Of course I feel good, he’s here, holding me, whispering sweet things in my ear while his hands roam over my skin.

He grins, fangs glinting in the candlelight. “We will have everything we deserve, Darling, and more when we’re done with them.”

“Them?” Were we talking about someone? I don’t remember.

The stars really do wink out of his eyes, the violet rapidly disappearing until there is nothing but unending darkness. His wings flare out behind him, apex talons sharpening until the form points. Shadows seep from his shoulders in rolling waves, until their darkness fills the room. “The witches of course. We have unfinished business with them.”

I think, maybe, there is something wrong with the way he looks, some old instinct in me trying to warn me to run. But I reach out a hand and brush it curiously over the ridge of his wing, feeling the leathery membrane shutter beneath my touch.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask.

He lowers me onto the floor and places a big, worn tome in my hands. I feel a flash of recognition in the back of my mind, but before I can place it, the memory is ripped away by a tendril of shadow. “Let’s start with burning a few books, hm? Then we have some Solstice sacrifices to make.”

------

Tag List: @girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #demon!rhys #demon!Rhys x reader #demon x witch #acotar au #witchcore #acotar fic #spooky szn fic #my writing #my fanfiction #acotar rhys #dark!rhys #dark!Rhys x reader #dark!Rhys fic

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sigyn-foxyposts · 3 months ago

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"Smite Logyn whiteboard dump"

Thank you @piratespacex for the drawing you did of them, I'm still head over heels in love with it ✨

#norse mythology #smite #smite game #loki #sigyn #logyn #loki x sigyn #smite loki #smite sigyn #smite hel #smite fenrir #smite fanart #smite jormungandr #fenrir #jormungandr #jörmungandr #whiteboard #art collab

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silverskye13 · 2 months ago

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Angst prompt courtesy of: @theunderscorwolph

[Part 1 of 2]

[Part 2 Found Here]

Helsknight waited... Probably too long to check in on Tanguish. In his defense, the last time he spoke to Tanguish, he was heading to Hermitcraft, and while Hermitcraft was far from safe, it was, in its own ways, safer than hels. There were fewer people, fewer hazards in general, and there was Tango. Tango wasn't a fighter. As far as Helsknight could tell, he was mostly just squirrelly, and a bit cowardly. But he was fiercely loyal. That went a long way. He had even, misguidedly, attempted to save Tanguish from Helsknight once. Helsknight, who recognized he was a big, scary, angry-looking, armed and armored knight, could respect that. And Tango and Tanguish were friends, and they got wrapped up in each other sometimes, and this was far from the first time Tanguish was gone all day talking to his other half about some project.

It was, however, the first time he'd been gone for two days in a row.

Helsknight didn't really consider himself to be a worrier. Tanguish was an adult. He could take care of himself. And even if he couldn't take care of himself, Helsknight could recognize that everyone had some level of pride. Butting in on someone else's business uninvited was a great way to be a nuisance at best, and a problem at worst. So, Tanguish didn't come back by the evening? If there was a problem, Helsknight would respectfully let him handle it. Tanguish knew to come get him for help. And while Helsknight would feel truly guilty if his dithering caused Tanguish to respawn, he could take some solace in knowing he would wreak holy vengeance on whoever did it.

[That was one of the perks of being a knight: when you pointed at someone and said something along the lines of "Through hels or high water I will smite thee" or some such dramatic nonsense, people tended to get out of your way and let you get to business.]

Day two of no Tanguish, and Helsknight went from being passively concerned, to something closer to open nervousness. He asked, as subtly as he could, around the Colosseum if anyone had seen him. No one had, though Martyn did make a joke about Tanguish finally getting wise and finding a real knight to squire to.

[EB really needed to stop getting between them when Martyn said things like that. The power of a bloody nose on shitty humor was astounding.]

Eventually, Helsknight had given up and decided the best thing to do was go to Hermitcraft and track the little pest down himself. He suited up for what he thought might be a mild amount of trouble -- it was always possible he would run into Wels when he was on Hermitcraft, and if he planned on searching for someone, he wanted to minimize the time he was fighting his double. He donned his chainmail, and the netherite gauntlets and grieves. He made sure the clasps on his boots were pulled tight. He cinched on his netherite sword, and made sure it pulled easily from the sheath.

He picked up his cloak last, and gave it a contemplative frown. In hels, the cloak was a distinctive and somewhat necessary piece of costuming. It was the visual shorthand he needed to inform everyone that he was a knight, and therefore probably knew his way around a sword [and wasn't worth mugging]. For those who knew knights, it told them what Order he was a part of. Useful. On Hermitcraft, however... Being able to tell at a glance that he was a red-themed knight in dark armor, who looked suspiciously like but not quite enough like one of the other server members...

While Helsknight weighed the pros and cons of stealth and subtly, two things he was famously very bad at, the shield hanging on his wall shuddered and kicked, and someone tumbled out of the reflection with a shriek. Helsknight sighed and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. He did a slow count to ten in his head, and tried not to be very, very annoyed he'd just spent twenty minutes putting on armor for no good gods-damned reason.

"Tanguish," Helsknight hummed, when he thought he could keep his voice relatively neutral, "for no reason in particular, I think we should make some ground rules about when you should check in with people--"

Helsknight turned, looked down, and anything else he was going to say vanished out of his head with such abruptness, it made his ears ring. Laying prone on the floor of Helsknight's cell, staring with wide, somewhat terrified eyes and the kind of grin that screamed about recently realized mistakes, was Tango. The Hermit blinked up at him. Helsknight blinked down at him. Somewhere down the hall, somebody laughed at something, which was their only indication that the whole world hadn't frozen with them when they made eye contact.

Helsknight could say, with honesty, he never expected to be put in a situation where a Hermit stumbled into hels, much less into his cell in the Colosseum, surrounded by all the biggest, scariest, most dangerous people in hels. At a complete loss on what to do, he fell back on what he thought was safest: namely, making sure no one got killed over it. Helsknight leaped over Tango -- who screeched ingloriously -- crossed to the door of his cell and slammed it shut. There was no lock -- he'd never needed one until now -- so he settled on turning his back to the door and bracing against it, content in the knowledge that, should someone come inside, he would be the first one to know.

It did not hearten him to see that Tango was still on his floor. He had apparently, when Helsknight stepped over him, curled up as small as he could, anticipating some kind of attack. He'd thrown his arms up over his face, and now peered at Helsknight through his fingers, humming tuneless, horrified syllables.

"Tangotek," Helsknight said, concentrating on keeping his voice very calm and very quiet, "you aren't welcome in my home."

"I didn't know I was going to end up here," Tango whispered back, his voice high and tense as a violin string.

"Go home."

Something flickered in Tango's eyes, something like determination. Helsknight hated that look.

"Uhm. N-no can do. Sorry."

"Can't." Helsknight said, barring his teeth at the Hermit. "Or won't."

Tango made a face at him, tight-lipped and tense. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Uhm. If. If I say won't, will you kill me?"

"Possibly."

"Then I can't. Definitely, definitely, physically can't." Tango looked around, scrambled to his feet, and dashed to Helsknight's bed. He, admirably, only winced a little when he set his spawn -- probably worried hels worked like the nether, and the bed would manage to explode somehow. With a bit more confidence this time, Tango stated again: "Can't."

"I can break that." Helsknight seethed quietly, and tried very hard not to grind his teeth. "It would piss me off. I like being able to sleep here. But I can break that, and send you back to Hermitcraft."

"But you don't want to do that," Tango said nervously. "Because-- uh-- you'd have to kill me, and Tanguish would be really, really upset about that."

"Tanguish isn't here. So either run home, or I will... escort you there." Helsknight put on his most wicked grin, and placed his hand on his sword meaningfully.

Tango staggered a step back away from Helsknight, somehow managing to go paler than he already was. The redstone freckles adorning his face sparked, and the flame of his hair took on a slightly green cast. The idiot Hermit was apparently made of very stern stuff, though, because he didn't flee for the nearest reflection. He took a few seconds to breathe. He had his own sword, a fact that Helsknight only noticed because his hand twitched towards the hilt uncertainly. Helsknight wasn't alarmed. Tango didn't move like someone who knew how to use a sword well, and he was fairly sure the Hermit's hands were shaking so much he would drop it if he tried to draw it.

Tango swallowed hard, darted a tongue across his lips, and asked with only a minimal tremor in his voice, "Uh, T-Tanguish isn't here? Like, not here here, or like... Not in hels, here?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "Is he supposed to be?"

"He left my place yesterday, and said he would be back in a few hours," Tango explained quickly. "I thought-- like, you know, maybe he decided to wait until morning? But. He didn't come back. And I got worried. He. You know. He tells me if he can't make it. It's-- all it takes is a reflection to talk. You know? And I did look in my reflection, but I couldn't see anything, which normally means he's not by one. It was just dark."

Tango crossed his arms. It was a gesture that somehow made him look smaller.

"I thought-- I hoped-- you know. Hopping through the reflection. I could just check on him. Make sure he was okay. I think. I think maybe it just took me to his spawn point."

Tango thought that statement over, then flashed Helsknight an incredulous, almost horrified look, "Why is his spawn point your bed?"

"Tanguish was supposed to be with you," Helsknight frowned.

"You haven't seen him?"

"No." Helsknight rested his hand on his sword hilt, mostly just so he wouldn't fidget. "Could he have gone back to Hermitcraft and you just missed each other?"

"I checked," Tango said, shaking his head. "I have... X gave a few of us console access. I did a few scans... Is there. Anyone you know with that kind of access for hels?"

"Hels and Hermitcraft are different places." Helsknight wrinkled his nose. "Maybe Evil X?"

"Cool! We'll talk to him then!"

"Oh sure," Helsknight spat derisively, "I'll just go knock on the front door to Evil X's tower and ask politely for admin access, will I?"

Tango grimaced. "Will he not... Like that kind of thing?"

"Oh he'd just love it. One more thing to hold over my head." Helsknight snorted. "It wouldn't work anyway. I have a pact that says I can't directly oppose him. If he, for the gods know what reason, has Tanguish, and I knew--" Helsknight made a parrying motion with his hand. "It's better if I don't know. Keeps my hands from being tied."

"Huh," Tango leaned back against the wall, slightly more at ease. Helsknight wasn't sure if he liked the fact that the Hermit was getting comfortable. "I kind of figured you and X-- uh, Evil X, would be friends."

"Why in hels would we be friends?"

"Well, I'm friends with Wels. And. You know. X. I just kind of figured..."

Helsknight decided the best thing to do with this statement was ignore it.

"I will check the house," Helsknight said. "You go back to your server. When I find him, I'll tell you."

Tango shook his head vehemently. "No! Nuh-uh. This is my rescue mission."

"While I appreciate your tenacity," Helsknight bared his teeth at the Hermit, causing him to shrink back a step, "hels is for helsmets. You wouldn't last ten minutes here. And I'm not wasting time keeping you safe."

"You protect Tanguish just fine."

"Tanguish can outrun everything that chases, and out-clever anything else."

"And he came from me," Tango said, crossing his arms petulantly. "I'm plenty smart! And I can be speedy in a pinch!" He sniffed. "We'll just give your house a look-around, easy-peasy."

Helsknight made to argue, and then a thought occurred to him.

"This isn't my house."

Tango blinked. His eyes shifted around the small, relatively bare room. The single desk, shield mounted on the wall, and bed.

"Is it... An outpost or something? You put this up while you were exploring?"

"This is my Colosseum cell," Helsknight said. When Tango only stared at him blankly, "Surely Tanguish has told you about the Colosseum."

"I mean... He did."

"I have a room here. For when I don't want to walk across hels to sleep."

"There's a bunch of fighters out there."

"There is."

"Fighters who... Dislike... Hermits."

Helsknight snorted.

"W-well!!" Tango sputtered, noticeably more nervous, but doing his best to ignore it. "I'm! Still not leaving! So! We'll just have to be quick. And once we get outside--"

"We'll have to walk across hels. Hels, the city, is very big, and has a lot of people in it."

Tango put his face in his hands and let out a keening whine of dismay through his fingers. It was the kind of noise that suggested he didn't know how to growl in exasperation, so he howled instead. Helsknight, begrudgingly, admitted to himself he was being [a little] harsh. He decided, against his better judgement, to have a little mercy.

"You really want to find Tanguish."

"Yes! Yes I do!" Tango snapped, looking up at him beseechingly. "I mean, is it really that hard to believe you're not the only one who wants him to be safe?"

Helsknight's skepticism must've shown on his face, because Tango let out another of his exasperated, half-syllable noises and ran his hands back through his hair.

"Look, I promise I won't get in your way. And I'll go home the second we find him. I just... I'm worried."

Helsknight sighed and tried his best not to roll his eyes. He crossed the room to where he'd left his cloak, and motioned for Tango to join him. Hesitantly, nervously, Tango stood and waited as Helsknight flung the cloak over his shoulders. It would have been far too long, but he gathered some of the length to turn into a makeshift hood, bunching it awkwardly around Tango's shoulders. It took some folding and some pinning, but after a few minutes, Helsknight stepped back and nodded. It was passable anyway.

"Keep this on while we're in the Colosseum," Helsknight informed him, pulling the hood down low over Tango's face. "With any luck, people will assume you're Tanguish. Or at least that you're supposed to be with me."

"And, uh, if that doesn't work?" Tango asked, his voice pitching the barest bit higher in nervousness.

"We'll burn that bridge when we cross it," Helsknight snorted. He checked one last time to make sure his gear was all in place, and, squaring his shoulders, led the way out and into the cells.

Nobody noticed them leave the cells. Or, at the very least, nobody noticed who Tango was. A few people stopped Helsknight to try and talk, but when he made it clear he had places to be, they let him pass. Helsknight's patience was not a thing anyone wanted to shorten, even those few dangerous people who could probably weather the aftermath.

Soon enough they were walking down the streets of hels, Tango hovering so close to Helsknight's side they occasionally walked into each other. Helsknight wanted to be annoyed. He wanted to be even more annoyed by all of Tango's jabbering. The Hermit would make observations as they walked, pointing at buildings and asking questions that Helsknight rarely deigned to answer.

They weren't here to sight-see. They were here to find Tanguish. So when Tango asked him his twentieth question of the morning [You guys have a working water fountain? How do you have water in hels? Is it an update suppression thing, or does hels have different rules than a standard nether hub?] Helsknight scowled and started walking so quickly, Tango had to jog to keep up with his long strides. Panting, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over cobblestones, he couldn't ask any more questions.

[Praise every god and saint in hels.]

Eventually they turned onto the street Helsknight's house was on, and immediately he knew something was wrong. Even from the end of the street, Helsknight could see the front door was open. A cold fist of dread clenched itself in his stomach, and Helsknight ran up the street, Tango protesting as he tried to keep pace.

The house had been ransacked. The door wasn't just open, it had been halfway knocked off its hinges, and the window at the front of the building had been smashed. He hadn't yet stepped inside, but from the red light streaming into the open doorway, Helsknight could see his little dining table and chairs had been knocked over. There was broken glass on the floor, and the pale gleam of metal -- Tanguish's dagger, dropped in a scuffle. There was no blood that Helsknight could see, but that was cold comfort.

"Oh... Shoot." Tango panted, standing beside him. "This is your house?"

Helsknight found himself swallowing past a growing lump in his throat. "Yes."

"Did you... Not go home yesterday?"

"No."

"Shoot." Tango said again, tugging on the edges of Helsknight's cloak nervously. "He left Hermitcraft in the afternoon. Would he-- would he have gone straight to the Colosseum if--"

"Probably."

"So. So this probably happened when he got here," Tango glanced up at Helsknight, gauging the knight's hesitation, and then picked his way cautiously to the door. "Does your house get broken into often?"

"If it did, there would be a lot fewer thieves in this city."

"I'll uh... Take that as a no." Tango stepped gingerly inside, the broken glass crunching beneath his boots. His tail, a liquid, fiery thing like his hair, swept around the floor, glinting off the glass shards like a field of sparks. He picked up Tanguish's knife and flipped it over in his hands, studying it before slipping it onto his belt. "No blood. Obvious signs of a struggle. I mean, he had to have been ambushed right? Otherwise he would've run for it. And they took him alive because, well, I mean, he would've just respawned right?"

The lump in Helsknight's throat got tighter. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Right?" Tango prompted again.

"How much do you know about helsmets? How our respawns work?" Helsknight asked quietly.

"I know respawn is rough for you guys." Tango raised an eyebrow at him. "Or, I assume, I guess. Tanguish seems pretty scared of dying, anyway. And I know you take deaths in the Colosseum very seriously. A lot of warrior culture weirdness stuff."

Helsknight swallowed. The fear of speaking his thoughts out loud grabbed him by the throat and pinned him still. Adrenaline, cold and sourceless, sent ice through his veins. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, his instincts as a knight searching for a source for his alarm to fight and dispatch, even when his logical mind knew there was none.

[He didn't want to say it out loud.]

"Sometimes."

Helsknight cleared his throat uncomfortably. He didn't look at Tango. His eyes wandered around the broken glass at the Hermit's feet, watching the flame of his tail glint off the brittle, jagged edges.

"Sometimes."

He swallowed again. He adjusted the buckle on his gauntlet. It suddenly felt too loose around his wrist. He was too vulnerable to talk about this. He needed plate mail, or a helmet. Hels, he needed castle walls and a full garrison.

"Sometimes we... When the universe... We are. Uhm. We're different than--"

He could feel Tango's gaze heavy on him. His skin prickled with the weight of his stare and his own growing, frigid alarm. Something like panic, a rare and terrible beast, was crawling awake in Helsknight's stomach. It gnashed its teeth against his insides, and he felt the desire to laugh, or shout, or throw something, or maybe just throw up in general.

[Don't say it out loud.]

"Tango, sometimes we dont--"

"Well it's about gods-damned time!"

The amount of relief Helsknight felt at the sound of that hostile voice was profound and dissonant, and incredibly welcome. Mostly though, it was an excuse to focus all his pent up fear on something physical he could kill, and he praised every god and saint in hels as he turned to face the newcomers.

A group of four vaguely thug-like helsmets stood in the street less than twenty paces away from him. Helsknight's gaze swept across them, noting their mix-match of leather and gold armor. Two had swords -- gold and iron. One was twirling an axe in her hand in a flourish that was probably supposed to be threatening, but mostly just told Helsknight she'd been practicing axe-flourishes instead of axe-throws. The person who'd spoken, a rather weasely looking thug with a knife on his belt, grinned with glad maliciousness.

"We've been waiting for you to show up, tin can."

Helsknight didn't rise to the [insult?]. It wasn't worth his time. He cast a quick glance in Tango's direction, catching the fading flicker as the Hermit hid somewhere in the house. Good. Helsknight would prefer he not be under foot.

"Who are you?" Helsknight asked coolly, not really expecting a response. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand restlessly, itching to draw his blade. "And what have you done with Tanguish?"

"Come quietly and maybe we'll tell you," the ringleader said, motioning broadly with one hand for his thugs to fan out around him.

The three fighters moved to circle Helsknight, one stopping just in front of the ringleader, while the other two began stalking further up the street. Helsknight did the mental math of four against one, while he was surrounded, and decided he didn't like the odds.

Helsknight attacked before the first swordsman, the one with the golden sword, could pass him. He turned and drew his sword in the same motion, and the strength behind his cleaving overhead strike shattered the softer metal of their blade neatly. His second swing, lightning quick, took them in the throat. He pointed his bloodied sword at the second swordsman, who froze in shock, blade up in a shaking guard position, as they watched their ally fade into twitching death throws.

"Will you make me ask twice?" Helsknight hummed, his voice as level as the point of his sword.

The swordsman's eyes darted over his shoulder. Helsknight frowned, felt more than he heard the approach of something. He ducked and spun, sword arching over his head to catch a weapon strike that instinct told him was coming. There was the loud clash of metal on metal, and when Helsknight straightened, he found two more thugs had joined from... Somewhere. The roof perhaps. Helsknight backed up several steps, trying to keep the entire group in his sight line, and his back to his home. At least with his back to a wall, no one could get behind him. The four with weapons drawn advanced on him slowly, wary of his speed, and the efficiency of his strikes.

"Throw down your weapon, gladiator," the ringleader called to him. "If all you want is to see your friend again, we'll take you right to him." He flashed a wicked grin. "Though we might rough you up a little first."

At that, the axe-weilder leaped forward -- some uncanny sense of Helsknight's, honed for danger, demanded he duck as a whisper of noise hissed by his ear -- and she fell back shrieking, a bloody hole punched in her shoulder. It was only when the arrow cracked against a far wall that Helsknight realized she'd been shot at close range with a very high power bow. Tango leaned through the broken window, a terrified grin on his face, another arrow already knocked.

"Fight fair why don't ya!" He crowed and loosed his second shaft. This one grazed the thug closest to Helsknight, and he used the distraction to ram his sword through their chest.

What followed was a frenzy of breath and movement, seconds that ticked by as ages that he measured in the studied arc of his blade. One thug, then two, then three, scythed down like wheat in a field, crude skill and cruder weaponry breaking against his fortress of an onslaught. It was only when the last one fell that he realized the ringleader was making a run for it. Silent as a breath, Helsknight yanked his knife from his belt, aimed and threw. It hilted itself in the back of the ringleader's left knee, and he fell to the cobblestones howling.

"Holy-- nice shot!" Tango laughed, the high piping sound of the traumatized and terrified. "What are you--? Wait! Helsknight! Wait a tick--!"

Helsknight wasn't listening. He was angry, and the implication that Tanguish was captured somewhere goaded him on like a burning brand between his shoulder blades. There was a very mean little animal of panic in his chest again, warring with the adrenaline of the fight, and he thought, if he had the mind to, he might tear the ringleader in half with his bare hands.

[It would be easy. One hand on the back of the neck, one at the base of the spine. His boots were heavy, and if he planted a few strong kicks at the knuckles of a vertebrae he was pretty sure he could--]

It was a mountain of restraint that made him stoop instead to pick the ringleader up by the collar and slam him into the nearest wall. His head bounced against the bricks behind him and his breath whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him dazed and gasping while Helsknight leaned his full weight into him to pin him still. Not that he was going anywhere fast with a bad knee anyway.

"Talk," Helsknight growled, nearly nose to nose with the thug. "My friend. Where is he."

The thug whined, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted in pain. "I'm not-- I'm not telling you anything. Y-you're not that scary."

For a very brief moment, Helsknight was so angry he actually did see red. He pulled his gauntleted fist back, fully intent on putting a dent between the thugs eyes -- when Tango leaped up and grabbed his forearm in both hands, dragging it down again.

"Hey! Hermitcraft to Punchy McMurderface!" Tango shouted frantically, clinging to Helsknight's arm for dear life. "Don't do that!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Helsknight snarled, grinding his teeth.

"Because if he's concussed unconscious he can't answer your questions, skippy!" Tango snapped fearfully, flinching back as though he expected Helsknight to punch him instead.

Helsknight, who had been expecting a much more stupid excuse [Something like, "Oh no Helsknight, don't punch the bandit that's mean and icky!" maybe] was momentarily caught off guard by the logical answer. He stood there, glaring down at Tango, panting as the red tinge the world had taken on faded back a bit.

"I'm st-still not answering your stupid questions," the thug sputtered bravely. "If you th-think I'm going to betray my guild--"

Helsknight hissed a breath out through his teeth. He reached for his dagger at his hip-- and remembered he'd already thrown it.

"Besides!" The thug gasped fearfully, realizing, probably, what Helsknight was looking for. "Y-you're a knight right? You've gotta be! No run-of-the-mill gladiator swings a sword like that! Knights don't torture people! It's against your religion or some shit."

Helsknight, whose anger was boiling up his throat again, considered the implications of renouncing his knighthood for one afternoon. Less than an afternoon. Surely it wouldn't take more than an hour to break a few bones. His Saint could only damn him to a lesser ring of hell. Maybe if he explained it was for something very important when he went to confession--

Tango spoke first. "Yeah but, knights are the law, too, aren't they?"

The thug briefly stopped breathing.

"I mean, they're deputized, technically." Tango continued, shoving his hands in his pockets. Helsknight suspected it was so no one could see them shaking. "At least, that's how knights in my world work. And I haven't seen any cops around. So. He's the law right now. And I don't know a lot about hels law, but I know you cut people's hands off around here for stealing things."

Tango looked up at Helsknight. "What do you think, Killer? I mean, technically they stole a person, right?"

Helsknight, despite his current fury and desperation, and despite his fearsome reputation, and despite, even, his ugly thoughts of a few moments ago, was not a torturer. He had inflicted some terrible wounds on people before, some to the point of what he would call cruelty, but never had he drawn a weapon with the explicit aim of causing pain and suffering. It was a line he had never really dared to cross, barring a few very harrowing fights with Wels, when he had flirted with the idea of that danger and eventually stayed his hand. There were some things a man could not do without carving out pieces of his soul in the process, where the gap between thought and action was a chasm, and to cross it was to never return to safety again.

Helsknight searched the darkest parts of himself for the will to remove someone's hand to get information. He searched the darkest parts of himself for the will to torture someone to find out where Tanguish was. A very sick, cold, empty feeling opened up in the pit of Helsknight's stomach. When he looked to the thug again, he had scrubbed himself of anger, and adrenaline, and, he hoped, fear. His expression must have been truly grim, because he watched the thug's face pale fearfully, his pupils pinpricks in too-wide eyes.

Helsknight threw the thug to the ground, forcing Tango to stumble back a few steps to get out of the way. His boot came down on the thug's shoulder, pinning him against the cobblestones. Panicked hands scrabbled at his ankle, nails sliding off the metal of his grieve. Helsknight was reminded of a rat trying desperately to climb out of a well, drowning.

"Hold your arm out, and hold it still," Helsknight said, his voice deathly calm. He leaned more weight into his heel, eliciting a long whine of pain from his captive. "I would hate to miss your wrist, and take your arm off at the elbow instead."

The thug was clearly panicked. Helsknight honestly couldn't blame him. He was very close to panicking himself. He kept shoving his feelings down into that cold empty place in his stomach, and replacing them with the mask he wore when he played the villain in the Colosseum. He quietly, forcefully, informed himself that this was a role he was playing, and like every role, he would play it very well. And then the performance would be over, and he could feel feelings about it then. After the screaming had stopped, and the blood had dried.

Tango had turned his back to him, his hands clasped over his ears. He did not run away. He did not leave. It was a show of solidarity Helsknight neither wanted nor expected, but found himself grateful for anyway.

"Last chance," Helsknight said. He lifted his sword, ready to plunge it down into the outstretched arm. He thought, in the detached way of the horrified, that if he could catch the tip of his sword between the bones of the wrist, that might be the fastest way to... To...

The thug closed his eyes and turned his face away.

Helsknight let out a long, slow breath. He drove the sword down. The thug screamed. The blade cracked against the cobblestones.

There was no blood. There was no dismemberment. The thug had pulled his arm away at the last moment, and clung to Helsknight's boot with both hands, shrieking. Helsknight's ears were buzzing. He couldn't hear what the thug was saying. His heart was racing, and his mind was so terribly, terribly empty. He felt... Numb. It was very hard to keep his sword in his hands.

A hand tapped gently on his arm. Helsknight blinked down at Tango, feeling vaguely like someone was waking him from a nightmare.

"Let me go!" The thug was yelling, scrabbling with renewed vigor against Helsknight's boot. "I told you what you wanted! Let me go!"

"Did you... Catch all that?" Helsknight asked, trying desperately to pluck coherent thoughts from the droning emptiness in his head.

"Sure thing."

[Ah... Good.]

Tango kicked his boot against the thug's side, more a nudge than anything. "Alright. We're going to let you go. Tell your guild boss or whatever that we'll be outside his place tomorrow at noon. Be ready to negotiate or -- uh -- be ready to get dead, I guess."

It was not a threat that would go down in the annuls of history as a great villain monologue, but the thug, shaking and terrified and in pain, took it deadly serious. Helsknight released him, and he hobbled away down the road as fast as he could on a bad leg. They watched him in silence until he disappeared down a side alley, leaving them in an empty street scattered in left over items from the other fallen thugs.

"Tomorrow?" Helsknight asked, his voice sounding very far away in his own ears.

"Today," Tango answered. "Telling them tomorrow makes them think they have time to prepare, and if they're preparing, they're not, you know, hurting Tanguish."

"Ah."

"You alright?" Tango squinted up at him. "You look like you're in shock."

"Mh." Helsknight dropped his gaze to the ground. His dagger had been left behind. He took a step forward... and sank to the ground.

"Woah! Hey, hey! Easy big guy--"

Helsknight found himself on his hands and knees, shaking, smothering under the weight of guilt and his own potential for horror. His head was buzzing again, a nauseating sound like the static of the void. His eyes found his dagger again, and he lunged for it. Moving on something between impulse and habit, driven by guilt and self-disgust, he ripped the blade across his wrist, spilling blood across the ground. With shaking hands he grabbed up his sword and set the tip against the cobblestones, his forehead pressed against the hilt, eyes screwed shut.

"Saint of Blood and Steel," Helsknight breathed, with all the desperation of a sinner crawling to an altar, "forgive me for what I would have done." He pressed his forehead so hard against the cold netherite of the hilt, it hurt. "Please, please, forgive me for what I would have done."

His nose stung with the smell of blood and metal and salt and sealing wax. His mouth tasted like bile, and he could feel every fluttering heartbeat in the cut on his wrist. The buzzing in his head, slowly, slowly, alongside the speed of his racing heart, ebbed. The animal panic curled up in his chest and grumbled as it started to ease itself to sleep. He realized someone was rubbing circles into his back, and whispering at him, and tugging at his hands.

Tango was not trying to be reassuring. At least, he wasn't trying to be reassuring so that Helsknight would be calm. He muttered things under his breath like, "Okay, easy now, no big deal, it's fine," and "Let it go. Nice and easy. Good knight. Scary knight..." The circles he rubbed into Helsknight's back were shaky and awkward, and very clearly a distraction for his other hand, which worked on uncurling Helsknight's fingers from the knife. Helsknight, his exhausted wits finally returning, had mercy on him and released it. Tango snatched up the knife like it were a snake he feared would bite someone. He grimaced at the blood on the blade, and, not knowing what else to do, wiped it off on Helsknight's cloak, before shoving the knife beside Tanguish's in his belt.

"So, just for establishing the rest of this afternoon," Tango said, when he realized Helsknight had come crawling out of his stupor. "Should I be worried about you hurting yourself randomly? Like, does this happen on a regular basis? Do you have triggers I should be making safe words for or--?"

"No." Helsknight said, trying not to feel ridiculous.

"Right. So that was just a one time thing? Because if it's not a one time thing, I'm not judging or anything. But, like, I might recommend seeing a hels therapist or something."

"No I--" Helsknight had no desire to explain that he had a Saint, and that Saint had tenets he'd sworn to, and he had been preparing to go smashing through them like a sledgehammer, mostly because she didn't want to admit it to himself either. He didn't want to admit that he had been on the verge of turning his back on everything that made him himself, because he was desperate and scared, and he didn't want to admit that if he wasn't a knight, he had no idea what he even was at all. Instead he fell back on what the thug had said, because it wasn't wholly true, but it also wasn't a lie. "Knight. Torture. Against my religion. Or. Whatever."

Helsknight leaned on his sword like it was his last hope of salvation.

"Very, very against my religion."

"R-right." Tango put on a complicated expression. The kind of expression one gives when they're realize they're walking on a minefield. "But. You know. You didn't actually torture anyone. Right? So. God can't be mad. So you don't have to slash your wrists for god, right?"

"I would have." Helsknight's eyes found a chipped cobblestone. "If he hadn't moved... I... Would have."

That feeling of frigid dread spidered it's way down his ribs again to pool in his stomach.

"Well. But. But. You didn't." Tango swallowed audibly. "You didn't. And that's what god cares about, right? And, even if god does care, you were following the letter of the law. And if god cares about that too. Uh. God. God can. Take it up? With me."

Helsknight barked a half-hearted laugh. "You going to defend my honor from god, Hermit?"

"Yes," Tango said uncomfortably. "Because I was the one who told you to do it. So. Double damn both of us, right?"

They looked at each other. They looked away from each other.

"Tanguish is going to kill us when he finds out what we did to find him," Helsknight said.

"I won't tell if you don't."

They looked at each other. Tango offered a hand to help Helsknight stand. When Helsknight took it, they grabbed each other's forearms, and it felt uncannily like a pact, or a promise.

"I won't tell if you don't," Helsknight murmured.

Helsknight sheathed his sword, and ran a hand through his hair, trying, with some success, to pull himself back together.

"We should... Get moving." Tango observed, looking up the street.

"I didn't hear a word he said."

"I've got it all up here buddy," Tango said, tapping the side of his head and offering a half-smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "So uh... You know anything about a Thief Guild?"

#the barking writer #rns ficlets #rns angst prompts #helsknight #tangotek #tanguish (mentioned)#tw blood #tw violence #part 1 #whatever it was getting long anywag #im not mad it posted youre mad

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pupsmailbox · 8 months ago

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FALLEN ANGEL ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abaddon. abel. acher. adam. aether. allocen. amducias. amon. amy. andras. angel. angelina. angelo. apollyon. ariel. armaros. ash. asmoday. asmodeus. astaroth. astrid. axel. azael. azazel. azrael. azza. baal. balam. balberith. barbatos. bathin. beatrix. beelzebub. behemoth. beleth. belial. berith. bernael. bifrons. blaise. botis. buer. cael. caim. cain. cannibelle. carrion. cary. castiel. celeste. celestia. cerberus. chemosh. corpse. crow. dagon. damien. damon. dantanian. dara. david. dina. donovan. dumah. eden. elena. eligor. ember. enepsigos. erebus. evangeline. eve. ezekiel. flauros. focalor. forcas. forneus. furcas. gabriel. gadreel. ghoul. gomory. guts. hagenti. halpas. haunt. hel. ian. iblis. icha. jeremiah. kage. kasdeya. keres. kimaris. kokabiel. kunopegos. laila. lamia. leila. levi. leviathan. leviathon. lilin. lilith. lucifer. malaika. malpas. marbas. mare. mastema. michael. mikhail. moloch. morax. moros. nathaniel. nicholas. nightshade. nyx. odin. onyx. orias. ornias. orobas. orpheus. paimon. phoenix. procel. purah. purson. qemuel. rahab. raphael. raum. ravana. raven. raziel. remiel. rogue. ronobe. rosier. ruax. rune. sabel. sabnack. saleos. salome. samael. samuel. sanguine. satan. seere. semyaza. sephtis. seraph. serenity. seth. shax. solas. sorath. statuette. tamiel. theo. uriel. uzza. val. valac. valefor. vapula. vepar. vesper. vine. virtue. vual. willow. wolf. wormwood. wound. wraith. xaphan. yael. zagan. zepar.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ae/aem. aeth/aether. an/angel. angel/angel. ar/arch. be/tray. bea/beast. being/being. bite/bite. blood/blood. broke/broken. broken/broken. cae/caem. cani/cani. che/cher. cher/cher. creep/creep. cross/crosse. curse/curse. da/dark. dae/daem. dark/dark. de/filed. dei/deim. disgrace/disgrace. dove/dove. e/eden. ely/elym. empty/empty. en/envy. fall/fall. fall/fallen. fallen/fallen. fang/fang. feather/feather. fie/fiend. flight/flight. grace/grace. grim/grim. grudge/grudge. gut/gut. ha/lo. halo/halo. hell/hell. holy/holy. hy/hym. hy/hymn. it/it. ix/ix. kill/kill. la/lamb. lo/lost. mon/mon. no/non. om/omen. omen/omen. rip/rip. ruin/ruin. sai/saint. ser/seraph. sera/sera. sera/seraph. sin/sin. smite/smite. smy/smite. teeth/teeth. tether/tether. thorn/thorn. throne/throne. un/holy. unholy/unholy. unknown/unknown. wi/wing. wing/wing. wraith/wraith. wrath/wrath. wre/wretched. ☦️ . ⛓️ . ❤️‍🔥 . 🔥 . 🕊️ .

#⭐️lists #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #angelkin #devinekin #fallen angelkin #demonkin #angelcore #demoncore #devilcore

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isleofdarkness · 4 months ago

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Riah meet Crowley only once. It did not go well.

He was listening in on Adam (The Cooler Adam) talking to Death, Hel, Thanatos, Saul, and Cora about how to put a lid on this Veil situation when Crowley walked into the House of Secrets. He just wanted to know what was going on because he heard it had something to do with Hades and he's friends with Hades and wanted to see if he could help. But Riah saw him and freaked out on instinct. A Fallen angel is still an angel and if there's one thing natural demons don't fuck with directly, it's angels, so he panicked instinctively. Adam, (who knew damn well that Riah was listening and was fine with it because the kid deserves to know what's going on,) heard this, remembered that he'd had the exact same reaction to seeing Crowley for the first time (it's a genetic instinct in all natural demon hybrids,) and had to pause the meeting by running out of the room yelling "No no no no no Crowley's fine he's the one who tempted Eve you're okay!" just in case Riah tried to smite him or something.

Crowley decided to keep his distance after that. He's not upset, he just gets how his presence would freak out Riah, Evie, and Claudine, and he didn't want to make their situations any more stressful.

#descendants #descendants au #isle of darkness #original character #descendants oc #zachariah darhk #descendants evie #genevive isabella char #claudine frollo #swearing

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sigyns-drafts · 11 months ago

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▷∙∘Mastlist∘∙◁

Norse mythology

Odin

Frigg

Fulla

Baldr

Hodr

Hermodr

Nanna

Hoenir

Jord

Thor

Sif

Thrud

Magni

Modi

Jarnsaxa

Loki

Angrboda

Sigyn

Fenrir

Jormungandr

Hel

Njord

Skadi

Freyja

Freyr

Gerdr

Eir

Lofn

Sjofn

Saga

Sol & Mani

Snv/RoR

Odin

Thor

Loki

Heimdallr

Brunhilde (including all Valkyries)

Hermes

Hercules

Aphrodite

Hades

Shiva + his wives

Rudra

Anubis

Lu bu

Adam & Eve

Kojiro Sasaki

Jack the ripper

Buddha

Qin

Apollo

Poseidon

Smite

Maman Brigitte

Amaterasu

Anhur

Anubis

Ao kuang

Aphrodite

Arcane

Ares

Athena

Artio

Awilix

Baron samedi

Bastet

Ballona

Cernunnos

Chaac

Chang e

Charon

Cu chualinn

Da ji

Discordia

Erlang shen

Eset

Fafnir

Freya

Ganesha

Gilgamesh

Guan yu

Hantchiman

Hades

He bo

Heimdallr

Hel

Hera

Horus

Hou yi

Isthar

Iz chel

Izanami

Janus

Jormungandr

Kali

King Arthur

Kukulkan

Lancelot

Loki

Maui

Medusa

Merlin

Morgan le fay

Mulan

Neith

Nike

Nox

Nemesis

Nu wa

Odin

Olorun

Osiris

Pele

Persephone

Poseidon

Rama

Sequet

Set

Shiva

Sol

Skadi

Sobek

Sun wukong

Surtr

Susano

Terra

Thanatos

The Morrigan

Thor

Tiamat

Tsukuyomi

Tyr

Ullr

Vulcan

Xbalanque

Yemoja

Ymir

Yu Huang

Zeus

Ror!Thor x Fem!Sif reader(A kiss under the evening sun)

Ror!Hermes x NB! Human reader (Enchanting music of the night)

In whistling spirits can be growth (Hades x Persephone)

With an Honorary status, beware the rubble (Odin, Loki, Sigyn, Angrboda)

The unlikely jackal-headed companion (Ror!Anubis x fem!reader)

Bonding by the Nile (Smite!Sobek & Neith)

With parental aid, my cycle's dread will fade (Hel!Reader with Loki and Sigyn)

Slumber in the Divine Boardroom (Gn!Reader x ror!Hades x Buddha x Loki x Poseidon)

Secret crushes and seashells (Ror poseidon x oc)

You remind me so much of him (ror buddha x fem!reader)

#writing #masterlist #norse mythology #smite #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok

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riku-izanami · 2 years ago

Note

Smite au

OK, here web go

También RWBY

Ruby: Mercury becouse of her semblance and becouse in game Mercury have speed abilities.

Weiss: Merlín becouse the mage could teach her how to use and control her glyphs.

Blake: Bastet becouse she and the godess are cats and can bond over cats things.

Yang: Bellona becouse she is the godess of war and I picture her and Yang having the same desair of a good fight.

Team JNPR

Jaune: King Arthur becouse both of them are héroes of their history.

Nora: Thor, lightning semblance and lightning god.

Pyrra:I Know you chose Athena for her but I think Achiles is better pick (Pyrra represent Achiles in RWBY).

Ren: Ganesha, I picture them meditating and helping others Witherspoon their powers (Ganesha isnthe god of success).

If you are going to add the others teams an villains i am going to send you a part 2.

I like it so far. However i will say for merlin, arthur, & Achilles aren't technically deities, but mortal chanpions held in high regards. Essentially, they'd be resurrected to help train, teacher, & motivate the beacon crew.

Oddly enough, for ruby i was gonna do neith cause they both seem liked they be very hyperactive together. But mercury works better

Weiss i haven't though of one yet. But looking at the mage Roster, its gonna be between

Eset , goddess of magic (still a high chance)

Persephone, queen of the underworld

Blake & yang are fine. Already had those two goddess set for them.

Jaune....i choose hades, no idea why. But he might get horus, or i may keep hades as his guardian. If i do keep hades for jaune, i have a fun scene which he & cardin get into. That and his family having wholesome moments with cerberus

Nora was gonna be possessed by, freya queen of valkyries, and thor goes to taiyang.

Pyrrha was the interesting one. Cause in the AU, athena & bellona wanted to possess Pyrrha, but we beaten to it by amaterasu due to her kinda and some what pure nature. Leading her to be the mother figure of there troop.

Ganesha works for ren. I was gonna choose hou yi.

________________________________________

As for the other teams and villians here's the pitch.

Sun= sun wukong (for obvious reasons)

Sage= sobek maybe

Scarlet= work in progress

Neptune= poseidon. Namely cause poseidon forces Neptune in water alot, constantly reminds of his namesake

Coco = serqet. They both have a tendency to love fashion.

Fox: maybe tsukuyomi. Still open to change

Yatsuhashi = guan yy

Velvet = Chang'e obvious reasons

Cardin = zeus, namely because zeus loikes looking powerful, and cardin offers that (note cardin won't be a complete douche, but still kinda a douche)

Russel = maybe loki or not in this

Dove = wip or not gonna be featured

Sky = wip or not gonna be featured

Cinder = originally gonna be hel, but will change to sol or izanami

Emerald = maybe awilix or da ji, for her illusions

Mercury = chernobog

Neo= was gonna be izanami, but probably change to hel

Adam= susano, obvious reasons

Sienna=kali

Ilia = wip

Qrow = thanatos

Taiyand = thor previously mentioned

Raven=nemesis

Goodwitch = possibly anthena since she's a teacher. Or Nox or hera. Still subject to change

Port= odin for his love of the hunt

Oobleck=thoth obvious reasons

Ironwood = vulcan or tyr

Ozpin= Kronos, obvious reasons

Hazel= maybe atlas, cabrakan, or ravana. Subject to change

Watts = wip

Tyrian =bakasura. For reasons to be explained

Salem = the morrigan

Other characters are available from the rwby verse, but haven't put much thought into them honestly. So and suggestions work adrian is getting the powers of cupid. I will not argue this, for now

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eclipsecrowned · 3 months ago

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bg3 muses + faith

miruna: the profane blood of a dead god, warring not with her nature, but her father's command of it, seeking to empty the throne as her sibling did and ascend to the power her divine father wields even as he rots. as above so blow. as the urge believes the world to be, so she shall make it. if the blood must be shed regardless, let it be by her own design. leave her, at least, her sense. this is her life. how dare some dying god cling to her like a leech, demanding her body, her mind, her very work? there will always be blood. let it serve her, and not the tyrant she calls father.

hel: her whole life has been a passion play, the dead returned to life, the beloved sword of her god, earning the second chance she was given. some anomaly in service to he who divides all. knowing she should be grateful, but her prayers falter, her mouth leaden. she was not loved before. the deeper in love she falls for a creature her god demands be cleansed by slaughter, the greater the falter in her faith. what does god have compared to the man she loves? is it better to die again a sacred martyr, or a happy bride? every mouth is raised in reverence for death -- who will praise the good man in the shadow of greater evil?

valas: the skies scream. his mother forsook two goddesses whose wrath has hounded him for decades, when l0lth scoured his house and sh*r stole his mother from him a century before. his father is -- was -- the son of god, and the same rage, the bone-deep need to open veins, lurks in valas, too. the gods would string him up and squabble over his offal. what use has he for gods? they have no true use for him. he only prays to empty altars that the one he loves is spared the horror they know. he is not surpised to find on that account, the sky is silent.

sybelle: god loves her. she knows she does. magic is a gift, the weave the embrace of the only mother she has ever known. what better inheritance could a daughter, however metaphorical, beg of her patron? but she never had a personal relationship with her goddess, only a series of analogies. her mentor has known all of mystra. how much worse it has left him. perhaps she's too young to understand, too sheltered, but all of this is offensively cruel to her. it certainly isn't love, and something about its absence gnaws at her. her goddess speaks a foreign tongue, and plays a game sybelle cannot see.

gale: it was love. it had to be love. it wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't -- or perhaps that's only his death in his chest? regardless, it's over now, all of it but the dying, he supposes. he still prays sometimes, but faith doesn't go very far for a heretic. and with time enough, any wound can heal or fester. his rots out, pitted by the thought that becoming what has condemned him will be an act of salvation. the gods do not make mistakes. perhaps ascension can take back each of his in turn. hail himself. perhaps this will, at last, be enough for him, that he can become a more tender hand than those that molded him to the shape that served them best.

vellioth: they cannot take it from him. he was favored, once, guided by the black hand, and gods, he was the best the church had. even now, as his nature has turned, he only proves a more capable servant of bane. but the manor of his mistress is strange. prayers don't escape its suffocating confines. god no longer answers him, and he feels it, too. something has fled from vellioth, along with his humanity. it is, perhaps, the only thing a man so cold would ever hold against the woman whose tortures have been a trifling payment for eternal power. she robbed his god of him. and she will one day learn she never took bane's place.

aurelia: actually has a completely normal and functional relationship with the oakfather, and frankly, is highly concerned for the other muses. like she just uphold the balance, silvanus doesn't smite his faithful ranger, it's... it's normal. no chosen baggage, no great betrayals, no 'aight ima head out.' what the fuck is going on with every other fucker on this list, she's about to break character and turn concerned mom friend for everyone except the bloodsucker --

#i'm not tagging all of them rn we'll burn this bridge when we get ot it --

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sigyn-foxyposts · 1 month ago

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''Smite!Hel art''🍪(Old)

She'll forever be my special girl and my first ever main because of course she would! 💛

#norse mythology #smite #smite game #hirez smite #hirezstudios #smite fanart #smite hel #cute chibi #chibi art #chibi

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silverskye13 · 2 months ago

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Angst prompt courtesy of: @theunderscorwolph

[Accidental unfinished sneak peak. Whoops.]

It was, however, the first time he'd been gone for two days in a row.

[EB really needed to stop getting between them when Martyn said things like that. The power of a bloody nose on shitty humor was astounding.]

"Tangotek," Helsknight said, concentrating on keeping his voice very calm and very quiet, "you aren't welcome in my home."

"I didn't know I was going to end up here," Tango whispered back, his voice high and tense as a violin string.

"Go home."

Something flickered in Tango's eyes, something like determination. Helsknight hated that look.

"Uhm. N-no can do. Sorry."

"Can't." Helsknight said, barring his teeth at the Hermit. "Or won't."

Tango made a face at him, tight-lipped and tense. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Uhm. If. If I say won't, will you kill me?"

"Possibly."

"But you don't want to do that," Tango said nervously. "Because-- uh-- you'd have to kill me, and Tanguish would be really, really upset about that."

"Tanguish isn't here. So either run home, or I will... escort you there." Helsknight put on his most wicked grin, and placed his hand on his sword meaningfully.

Tango swallowed hard, darted a tongue across his lips, and asked with only a minimal tremor in his voice, "Uh, T-Tanguish isn't here? Like, not here here, or like... Not in hels, here?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "Is he supposed to be?"

Tango crossed his arms. It was a gesture that somehow made him look smaller.

"I thought-- I hoped-- you know. Hopping through the reflection. I could just check on him. Make sure he was okay. I think. I think maybe it just took me to his spawn point."

Tango thought that statement over, then flashed Helsknight an incredulous, almost horrified look, "Why is his spawn point your bed?"

"Tanguish was supposed to be with you," Helsknight frowned.

"You haven't seen him?"

"No." Helsknight rested his hand on his sword hilt, mostly just so he wouldn't fidget. "Could he have gone back to Hermitcraft and you just missed each other?"

"I checked," Tango said, shaking his head. "I have... X gave a few of us console access. I did a few scans... Is there. Anyone you know with that kind of access for hels?"

"Hels and Hermitcraft are different places." Helsknight wrinkled his nose. "Maybe Evil X?"

"Cool! We'll talk to him then!"

"Oh sure," Helsknight spat derisively, "I'll just go knock on the front door to Evil X's tower and ask politely for admin access, will I?"

Tango grimaced. "Will he not... Like that kind of thing?"

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